A/N:I'm so sorry.

I disappeared on you for ages and left you without a clue of where I was or whether or not I'd be back.

Well, I am back. And I've got more words.

I've loved reading your comments and asks and reviews and feedbacks and messages and everything else. You guys are the greatest most lovely readers in the entire universe, Marvel or otherwise. Your support and general loveliness is what keeps me going. So thank you thank you thank you. Without you, this story would be 1.5 chapters long.

As it stands, it's looking like it may end up being longer than the originally planned 10 chapters. Or perhaps we'll wrap up this arc at 10 and start a second story with new problems, challenges, etc. Like a Part II. We'll find out. But I've become really attached to these two and to writing Jemma specifically. I don't know that I'm ready to leave her just yet. If you have any particular opinions on this matter, feel free to weigh in!

Anyway, enough chat. The words are below. Enjoy!

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Chapter 7

When I wake up, my bed's empty.

It takes me a moment to place the sound that woke me: harsh and biting with a sort of brain-scrambling quality about it.

A blender, I realize, wincing.

Obviously it's not an altogether unfamiliar sound, but on the bus it mostly sits in the corner on the counter in the small kitchenette collecting dust. Or at least it would, if the bus didn't employ the latest and greatest cabin air filtration and purification systems.

Our food selection on the bus isn't what you might call 'gourmet'. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s approach to our culinary needs much resembled the approach to our sleeping situation: necessities would be provided but luxuries were, well, a luxury we couldn't afford.

We make do with mostly dry foods and non-perishables. As such, there isn't much to blend, per se. Which is why the sound seems especially out of place this morning.

Driven by curiosity, I throw back the covers and get up, creeping to the door of my pod and exiting quietly.

As I round the corner that leads to the kitchenette, I do my level-best not to laugh.

There, standing at the counter in my S.H.I.E.L.D. jumper, completely covered in yoghurt and what looks like strawberries is Skye. From the looks of it, she turned on the blender but neglected to put the top onto the container. You don't need a degree in Physics to deduce what happened next. I do have one, though, for the record.

Skye blows out a heavy sigh, chuckling a little bit despite herself. Before I can stop myself, I let out a small laugh too. Skye looks up at the sound, her expression sheepish.

"Sorry, I hope I didn't wake you," she looks around, assessing the damage. "Seems like I've made a mess."

Smirking, I cross the short distance to the kitchenette to see for myself. As I lay eyes on the counter, which is completely covered in the pink goop of would-be smoothie, I nod appreciatively. "Seems you have."

Skye bites her bottom lip and ducks her head. "Sorry about your sweatshirt. I'll wash it, I swear."

Looking at her, I can honestly say that a smoothie-covered jumper was pretty much the last thing on my mind. Now, behind the counter and standing next to her, I could see that she's wearing only my jumper, likely having shed her pajama bottoms in the night. The pods do tend to get quite warm, I suppose.

I find it difficult to respond for a moment, but do eventually manage to remember that she'd said something to me.

"Don't worry about it," I wave away her concern genuinely. "I think it suits you just like that," my tone is teasing, and I'm hoping it will cover up the fact that I wouldn't have been upset to find her in my best clothes, covered from head to toe in smoothie if it meant she'd look at me exactly the way she is right now.

"I was trying to make smoothies," she says, as if that much wasn't obvious. "I picked up some strawberries and yoghurt a few days ago while we were in Pennsylvania." She rubs the back of her neck with a yoghurt-smeared hand. "I wanted to make us some smoothies. You know, a real breakfast for once instead of the usual dried fruit and oats." She tries to laugh off the disappointment, "Clearly it didn't work out so well." Her voice is light but her eyes give away the fact that she's a bit dejected.

And in this moment, I swear that I can feel my heart grow two sizes, a-la the Grinch. Without thinking, I reach up and gently wipe a smear of smoothie from her cheek with my finger and proceed to put it in my mouth, humming exaggeratedly. "Hmmmmm," I nod emphatically, "It's delicious. Honestly, totally, without a doubt the absolute best smoothie I've ever had."

Then, almost as if by magic, her expression brightens. Her lips spread into a smile that reaches her eyes and her nose crinkles in that way that is distinctly Skye.

"You think?" she asks, wiping a glob from the arm of the jumper and tasting it. She considers it for a moment. "Hmmm, you know, you might be right. It's not half bad."

"Silly Skye," I smile, "you should know by now that I'm almost never wrong."

She rolls her eyes. "Right, of course. Silly me." She looks at me with amusement and tenderness and I can feel the breath catch in my throat as my cheeks warm rapidly.

You know, there are some mornings, when you wake up, get out of bed and do a number of things with little to no thought or consideration. It's almost as if sleep hangs on the edges of your brain and you're still drunk on it, intoxicated and defenseless. You go through the motions, your basic instincts, habits and motivations taking over. Dr. Vedantam calls it 'the hidden brain'.

I can only assume that it was for this reason or a similar one that I, without full consent of my brain, step closer to Skye, propelled forward by a force I can neither see nor stop. I'm suddenly in front of her, just centimeters from touching her.

"Maybe, you know, just to be sure…" I hear myself trail off.

Seemingly all on their own, my hands are on her shoulders and my lips on her cheek, gently kissing a patch of yoghurt-covered skin.

I sense her surprise and my first instinct is to pull away, to retreat. Ever single cell in my body seems to agree, but suddenly I feel as thought I've been reduced to a miniature version of myself, trying (and failing) to control my body, which acts without my consent. This is something more than sleep-drunk boldness and I linger there, my lips on her skin, only millimeters from the corner of her mouth, for what seems like the length of an Ice Age.

This is not a Jemma Simmons thing to do. And I don't mean in a 'sometimes you surprise yourself' kind of way. I mean in a 'this is actually, literally, totally 100% not me'. I am seeing and hearing and feeling everything, but controlling nothing. It's as if my brain is shouting at my body to move, to step back, to turn around leave the room at all costs, but my muscles aren't getting the message. They move of their own volition and I'm a bystander, watching like I'm having some kind of out-of-body experience in my body. I can feel the panic filling my chest, but the rest of my body doesn't react.

I feel sure that this is going too far too fast.

Because even when I haven't been able to fully admit it to myself, I've known it's true: I have feelings for Skye. Real, honest-to-Odin feelings. Unplugging-her-wi-fi-signal-booster-to-get-her-to-spend-time-in-my-room feelings. Picturing-us-on-a-Saturday-morning-drinking-coffee-and-eating-donuts-in-a-much-bigger-and-much-more-comfortable-bed feelings.

And now, here I am, completely blowing it, practically assaulting her in the kitchen. My chest tightens painfully as the panic rises.

Surely this will make things awkward. There are certain ways to approach feelings like these. Talking, discussing, moving slowly, etc. Pouncing on her without any warning is probably not an advisable method.

I want to walk away, need to walk away, and yet I can't step back.

The air changes. I feel the muscles in Skye's shoulders relax, and I could almost swear that she's leaning into my touch. She's turning her head, but it's impossible to tell which way before the sound of footsteps in the hallway snap me out of this bizarre fugue state.

Coulson rounds the corner with May in tow as I jump (actually, literally jump) backwards, removing myself from Skye as quickly as humanly possible. Considering the force with which I slam into the wall behind me, however, I may have achieved some suspiciously superhuman speed. Fortunately, it doesn't hurt. I'm just relieved to have regained control of my body.

At the sound of my back slamming into the wall, Coulson looks up with one eyebrow raised.

"Everything alright?"

I nod emphatically, standing up straight. "Fine sir," my voice comes out like a squeak.

Skye is busy looking at me like I've got two heads, but manages to utter, "Just fine, AC."

Coulson appears unconvinced, but wisely decides not to question it. He and May resume moving through the room until they get to the door of Coulson's office and shut it behind them.

It hasn't escaped my notice that Skye's still looking at me, though, her expression questioning. When she opens her mouth to say something, I beat her to it.

"I should get to the lab," I mumble, not looking directly at her. Without waiting for a response, I turn on my heel and hurry towards the stairs that lead to the lower level of the Bus.

"Cool outfit. Might consider adding a cape, though."

"Cheeky," I observe flatly, entering the lab. I barely glance at Banner as I head directly towards my locker, where I've stashed an extra pair of clothes in the event of some contamination disaster. I hadn't wanted to venture back to my pod, and opted instead for heading directly to the lab in my pajamas. Honestly, I had hoped that Banner might've opted for a bit of a sleep-in, but I should've known better. I'm rarely that lucky.

"Sleep well?" he asks.

My cheeks flush and I'm glad that I'm not facing him. Truth is, I slept quite well. Better than I've slept in ages on that criminally thin utilitarian S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue "mattress".

"Fine," is all I say in response.

I step into the storage closet near the lockers and quickly change into regular trousers and a spare jumper.

"I don't know how you guys do it every night," Banner says, his voice raised a little so that I can hear him from inside the closet. "Those beds are only a step above Flinstones furnishings. And it's a small step."

My mind is, admittedly, still in the kitchen and I can't seem to come up with a response other than a noncommittal "hmm."

I emerge from the storage room to stow my pajamas.

"Thought you might like to know that I found something."

My hand stills on the locker handle as move I close it.

That is very much something I'd like to know.

I turn quickly to face him.

"What?"

"Your, um, 'condition' isn't a product of the radiation. It's another element. The radiation's just accelerating the reaction."

Glaring at him, I mutter, "You could've opened with that," and move quickly to stand over his shoulder as he points out his evidence on the screen.

"What is it? The element, I mean."

"No clue. But your radiation levels aren't astronomic and they're decreasing. Both good signs. This could be temporary after all."

I can hardly contain my relief as I plop gracelessly onto a stool and cover my face with my hands. "Thank God," I breathe.

Banner chuckles, "You know, there are plenty of people all over the world who would kill to have abilities like you and I." He pauses and a hint of melancholy look washes over his features, "but I know what you mean." A moment later, that look is gone. "So," he presses on, "unless there are any more 'symptoms', I say we just ride it out and see if the whole thing doesn't disappear by the weekend."

It's hard to place the feeling that I have just then, and before I have a chance to dwell on it further, Fitz comes crashing into the lab, effectively cutting off anything I had planned to say in response.

"Jemma. Simmons," he breathes unevenly, clearly in even worse physical shape than I am and not exactly suited to running around the Bus. "I can't. Believe. You."

Banner looks at me questioning, and I know my expression is telling him that I have absolutely no idea what Fitz might be talking about.

Fitz manages to catch his breath presses on, undeterred. "I mean, I know you have a very strict non-meddling policy when it comes to, well, everything," he gives me a pointed look that tells me how stupid he thinks the Prime Directive is, then continues. "But bloody hell, this time you really didn't need any prodding at all."

Banner, confused, cuts in.

"I think I'm missing something?"

Fitz turns to Banner as if he's just noticed he's here, but grins excitedly. "Simmons kissed Skye," he says quickly, barely able to contain his smugness and glee.

Banner turns to me, nodding encouragingly. "Way to go, Simmons."

I open my mouth to explain, but Fitz isn't finished.

"I mean, it was just on the cheek, granted. But you should've seen her," he shakes his head, "her face was about two seconds from splitting right in half. She said nonsense about yoghurt and smoothies and blenders."

I can feel my face reddening as I become more horrified with each passing second.

"Though she did mention you ran out on her, so you may want to clear that up."

Not for the first time during my career with S.H.I.E.L.D., I wish that we had some kind of technology that would enable the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

"It wasn't like that," I say quietly.

"I know," Fitz responds, not catching on. "That's what I told her. I said you probably just forgot that you'd left something in the centrifuge and had to tend to it."

It takes some serious effort not to roll my eyes. I never leave anything in centrifuge. Fitz, on the other hand, does it frequently.

"No, I mean it wasn't me," I correct. "In the kitchen. It was my body but I wasn't the one doing it."

Fitz gives me a look like I've sprouted an extra head. "What do you mean?" he questions. "'Course it was you. Unless you've got an LMD running around. And I know you don't because they're banned and you hate breaking rules."

Banner leads forward on his stool, suddenly interested. "What do you mean, Simmons?"

I ignore Fitz's comments about rule-breaking and turn to Banner. "I mean, it wasn't me. It was like some out-of-body experience. Or a fugue state."

"You're sure?" Banner asks, as if simply reconsidering might make it less true. Or worrisome.

I nod, "Positive."

Looking back and forth between Banner and I, Fitz asks, "Am I the one missing something now?"

Banner grabs a light from the table and shines it into my eyes, inspecting my pupils and checking my reflexes. "How long did it last?" he asks.

"Not very. Maybe thirty seconds."

"Did you feel anything?"

I shake my head, "No, not really. Panic, mostly. But nothing physical. No pain. Just…no control."

"First time it's happened?"

"That I know of, yes."

Banner nods grimly. "Perhaps our congratulations were a bit premature."

Fitz seems to catch on then. "Is this about the fungus?" He turns to me, "Simmons, is there something you're not telling me?"

And just like that, the guilt sets in.

Ever since primary school, we've told each other everything. No secrets. Nothing could hurt us as long as we were on the same page.

I have to tell him. Coulson will just have to understand letting one more person into the Circle of Trust.

"I've been infected. And so far, all we can tell is that the same thing that was happening to the spores is happening in my blood."

I'm finding it surprisingly hard to explain it, but Banner comes through with a more visual example in the form of throwing a tray a test tubes at my head. I catch it easily, managing to keep any of them from falling and breaking.

Fitz looks on in disbelief. "You mean you're, like-"

"Enhanced is the word we're going with right now," Banner supplies. "Simmons," he steers the conversation back to the matter at hand, "do you remember what happened just before the, er, 'incident'?"

I think back. "Nothing, really," I shrug. "We were in the kitchen. Skye'd forgotten to put the lid on the blender, so naturally there were bits of smoothie everywhere. She'd said she was trying to make us breakfast and she was in my jumper, covered in yoghurt and beating herself up over it. And I just tried to make her feel a bit better."

Fitz's devilish grin returns, "You did that all right."

I want to enjoy it. Really, I do. I've wanted to be close to Skye, to kiss Skye for months.

But not like this. Not when it wasn't me. I kissed her, but I didn't kiss her.

If something ever happened with me and Skye, I don't want to remember our first kiss being something I hadn't initiated on purpose. This feels wrong somehow.

Banner seems to read my mind. "These things don't happen out of nowhere, most of the time," he says. "Odd as they are, they're typically just amplified inner motivations. Nothing your body does can be done without express permission from somewhere in your brain." He smiles warmly.

I return his smile weakly, hoping he's right but not feeling entirely comforted.

"So let me get this straight," Fitz chimes in, "You got infected by spores, they've turned you into a superhero, you kissed the girl you've been pining after for months, she's completely over the moon about it and you're still finding a way to get twisted round the axel about it?" He throws his hands up in the air and leaves the lab, muttering, "Only you, Jemma Simmons. Only you."

A/N: Ohman. Looks like the super fungus might be turning Simmons into a suave Skye-seducing machine. But is that really the way she wants this to play out?

Time will tell.

For now, I'm sorry it wasn't longer. And I'm sorry it wasn't all Skimmons. You guys deserve thousands and thousands of words of Skimmons goodness and I disappeared on you.

But I'm still writing! New chapter up as soon as I can manage it.

Until then, you're all the most lovely, incredible, sweet people and readers. I love hearing from you. Never change 3